


Matchless II

by StarCityRebels



Series: Matchless (Bat-fam Matches Malone Fics) [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Age Difference, Betaed, Bottom Bruce, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Feels, Identity Porn, M/M, Power Dynamics, Prostitution Roleplay, Role Reversal, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 01:50:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9268379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarCityRebels/pseuds/StarCityRebels
Summary: Bruce Wayne uses his under-world alter-ego Matches Malone to do what Batman can't. Again. Dick Grayson uses Matches to get what he wants-- and it's something a little different this time.This is a continuation ofMatchless.





	

______________ _ **An Interregnum**_ _______________________

Bruce was missing for 48 hours.

Batman had been sighted all over the city. From the Heights to the Narrows. Word was he was chasing someone or something.

When a pile of Man-Bats were found left in a previously unoccupied zoo enclosure word on the street was that was that he'd found it.

On Tuesday, Bruce was back at the Manor. Dressed in sweats and looking tired to the bone. Alfred tries to talk with him about it but Bruce is brusk. 

Dick comes by after class that night wearing a new turtleneck. He says he'd like Bruce’s help studying for a biology exam. Bruce, who always got A’s in Bio, tells Dick he’ll have to get Alfred’s help instead since he's busy in the cave.

Two hours later Dick goes down to visit him, brings some of Alfred’s milk and cookies. Bruce looks pained. Dick tries to give him a hug but Bruce shoos him away. Dick refuses to leave, tells him, “Don't do this to yourself. Don't do this to me.” But Bruce calls for Alfred to bring him some coffee and Dick can't say anything then. Not in front of Alfred. 

When they go out that night to chase down Langstrom, Batman has Batgirl meet them first at the Manor. Bruce and Dick don't have a second alone. When they reach the city Batman splits to head across town leaving Babs and Dick behind.

Babs does ask Dick how he’s feeling but seems to accept his brief "Bruce" as an answer. Although it could just be that she's distracted, because a moment later they arrive at a fire that's consuming an entire block of rowhouses.

The next morning Dick tries to talk to Bruce at breakfast but Bruce has already left and isn’t answering his personal phone.

Over voicemail Dick tells Bruce he's LEAVING. Says it like a final pronouncement. He hugs Alfred on the way out telling him he's got classes today. Thanks Alfred for everything. Alfred says it's his greatest pleasure-- and means it. 

Friday night Alfred gets a call. It's from Dick’s college roommate. Dick never returned to school after the weekend. Missed the Bio final and his friend is worried. Wanted to check in to make sure he was ok. 

Alfred thanks the young man for letting him know. He tells him that Dick has been sick with the flu and won't he please let his professors know. Assures him it's nothing too bad and that Dick will be back soon.

He tells Bruce that Dick is missing. Really missing. He tells Bruce to make it right.

_______________ _ **Matchless II**_ _____________________________

Matches hates Metropolis. It’s not a real city. It’s what a rich asshole would think a city’s supposed to be. The streets are too planned, too orderly. The buildings are too new, too clean. So of course by the time he tracks down the kid, the kid’s in goddamn Metropolis. 

Matches has to hand it to him though– he thought places like this club only existed in real cities like Gotham or Star City. But shiiiiit, apparently there’s a leather bar in Metropolis. Wonder if it’s been around for long? Can it even stay open what with the kind of folks living there? Maybe it’s some kind of drug front… if any of the picture perfect citizens he’s seen on of the streets even take drugs.

When Matches sees the kid he’s sitting in the lap of some jackoff who looks like a 3rd rate pervert version of that so-called Batman. The guy’s wearing a leather duster, some tactical shirt, punk rock haircut and even an earless-cowl pushed back off a too handsome face that Matches would really like to break. 

Heh.

Matches may not even believe in Batman but if the Bat was real he sure as shit wouldn't be seen without his cowl on. That’s how Matches knows this guy’s a joke, not a real superhero, even though he’s big enough to be. Damn fanboys.

He also knows the guy’s not actual Batman because he’s sitting in a leather bar, grinning, with a kid in his lap. Matches’ kid.

Matches didn’t want a kid. Robbie made things complicated. When the Robbie started working solo on the regular Matches was relieved. And Matches and Robbie weren’t like that anyway. Robbie was his apprentice, not his boy-toy. 

And then this kid showed up– same face as Robbie. Same body. But nothing like him. Nothing but sex and wild desire. Manipulative like he’d only known women to be. 

Matches had tried to push the kid out of his mind. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t just the sex, even though he’s jerked off thinking about the kid's perfect ass every day since he’d fucked him. The image of the kid’s painfully blue eyes invaded his dreams so much he was losing sleep. 

There was something else about the kid that got under his skin. Something that burned him and that he couldn’t ignore no matter how hard he fought it. And he had fought it hard. Dozens of busted lips and blackened eyes and worse when some of Magpie’s thugs–thugettes(?) set him off wrong can prove it. 

Matches doesn’t fuck pros. Doesn’t fuck boys -- at least not since he was a practically a boy himself. 

Matches sure as shit doesn’t let himself get to played into fucking one in a bar’s bathroom. It ain't going to happen again. And yet he needed to see the boy who got under his skin. All the saner options feel even more ridiculous than this one.

That’s why Matches is a more than a little pleased the kid is in a leather bar and not at Penguin’s club. He’d promised himself he wasn’t going to repeat what happened last time he saw him. No more fucking the kid in dirty bathrooms. No more breaking skin. No more hurting him... Matches isn’t really breaking his promise to himself now. Not technically. Not yet. 

Matches walks over to where the Fake Batman and the kid are apparently absorbed in conversation (what the hell do they got to talk about that isn’t negotiating prices?) and waits for them to spot him. To his chagrin, it’s Fake Batman who sees him first, the kid too absorbed in his current target to notice him.

Fake Batman gives him a slow once over, and asks, “Find yourself in the wrong bar, pal?” 

Matches definitely sticks out like a sore thumb in this place. Everyone else is wearing black leather or denim, and most of them are half naked. Matches is here in his usual clothes; a vivid maroon suit and wine colored cap that don’t quite go together. He is not dressed like a perv. Not like the other men here.

“Oh, I’m not lost. Maybe you don't like me being here but I sure as shit ain't lost,” Matches replies and that’s when the kid sees him. 

“Matches,” the kid twists to look at him, but doesn’t take his hands off the creep whose lap he’s sitting in, not even for a moment. “You made it damn clear you think I'm just a kid and nothing but the wrong kind of trouble. But here you are, chasing after me like I'm your lost puppy.” 

The kid’s look has changed a little since the last time Matches saw him. He’s found himself a black leather biker jacket now which he’s wearing over a bare chest. The navel ring is gone without a mark. Matches had been right about it being a fake. But instead he’s got a nipple ring, a slightly curved barbell and it’s definitely real because it still looks raw. Must have been pierced a day ago, or less. Maybe by the fake Bat Prick. 

Kid’s got a dark blue bandana around his neck—maybe to cover the nasty bite mark Matches left on him last time. He’s got engineer boots on but he’s still wearing those obscenely short jean cut-offs with the pockets hanging out below the hem. The same cut-offs that couldn't even contain his cock when they made out last time. 

He hasn't gotten any new scars since their last encounter but he has something that looks like a nasty rug-burn on his knees. 

Looks like it's from a few days ago. Jesus christ, the kid can’t take care of himself.

Bat-Fake wraps his arm tighter around the kid’s waist and smirks, “So….It looks like you’ll be moving along now—”

“—I didn’t say that!” the kid interjects shooting dagger eyes at both of them. “Matches and I have unfinished business to discuss.” He pauses and smirks “Man, do you look out of place here. But you'd do anything to track me down.”

“I never learned how to dress for success like you, kid. I just rely on my fists and my wits to get what I want,” Matches says, pointedly cracking his knuckles. 

Bathole laughs under his breath. Gives the kid a significant look of some kind and the kid nods in return.

“As much as it pains me to leave my friend in the company of a man who wears polyester to a leather bar, _**I’m** _ not going to tell him how to live his life. Lot of good that’d do, wouldn’t it Baby Boy? See you later,” he ads pointedly then leans over and kisses the kid.

The jerk licks into the kid’s mouth all gross and possessive, both biting each other’s lips on the way out. Matches is about two seconds from slamming that fucker into a wall and leaving him with a real bloody lip, but he doesn’t want to risk hurting the kid. The jerk squeezes the kid’s bare ass under his shorts with one hand and with the other he checks under the kid’s bandana. 

“Don’t forget to keep putting neosporin on that, ok?” the jerk says as he gets up and walks away to the other side of the bar.

“So,” the kid smirks. “I take it you missed me. I was going to joke that I feel touched except you know—I really am touched. More ways than one,” He shifts around in his seat to show off a serious hickey, still wet on the back of his neck and then leans back on his elbows casually, making his jacket swing open more, revealing finger shaped bruises down his sides and along his hipbones.

Matches gets the message. Kid’s been making the rounds this week. Or maybe all those mementos are just from the Bathole, who is now chatting it up with some overly blond and overly muscled Chelsea Boy. 

“I wanted to check in on you. Make sure you weren't getting into trouble. I made a significant investment in you taking care of yourself. Money like that don't grow on trees.”

“Technically speaking you didn't see me around town. I kept up my end of the bargain. But you decided to track me down. Did it occur to you I don't want you looking out for me?”

“Ya said so. But you sure don't act like it. You were easy to find. Just had to ask my connections about a kid with your description who thinks he's a up for rough trade.”

“Aren't I?”

“Your friend over there ain't a fraction of what's out there. I've seen it before, kid. You don't make it out of that ok.” Matches realizes too late that he's cupping the kid’s face.

Matches feels the weight of men's eyes on him. Had he really argued loud enough to be heard by guys standing 6 feet away? Matches never gets hot under the collar like this. Matches is the one who calls the shots. But here he is, his face flushed, his hands moving unbidden.

They're standing close, so close he can smell the kid’s breath. It smells cleaner than it has any right to be. The kid’s sober, or close to it. So’s Matches, and yet he still wants to rescue this kid, like he’s some kind of goddamned super hero. Like that’s not the stupidest thing he ever heard.

That's when Matches knows the kid’s got him. From the kid's smile, he knows it too.

“Let's finish this conversation somewhere more private. Sound good, big guy? Then you can tell me all about everything I don't know.” The kid bites his lip and runs his hand along Matches’ belt. He snakes a finger inbetween the buttons of Matches’ shirt and the waistband of his pants, searching out for bare skin. He finds it and looks up at Matches hungrily. It makes Matches’ blood rush like he's on fire.

But this isn't going to be like last time, Matches tells himself. He isn't going to bend the kid in half and fuck him to the breaking point. He isn't going to hurt him again either. They can't keep on like this. He knows they can't talk here, but he's not sure where else he could. Matches wonders where the hell is the right place to tell a too-young rent boy you want to fuck him sweet and slow and maybe take him home after? Matches thinks of himself as ready for any scenario but he never had a plan for this one.

Matches just nods and follows him back through the club, down some stairs to a storage area full of bulk shipments of bar napkins, toilet paper, and crates of liquor bottles. 

He can tell they aren't the only people who've discovered this space. There's a few used condoms in a corner and what looks like dried come nearby but the basement is empty right now except for the two of them.

The kid talks first. “What kind of conversation are we having big guy? Do you have something to tell me that I want to hear for a change? Something like ‘I'm sorry I keep talking down to you?’, ‘I'm sorry I keep treating you like an underage kid?’, ‘I'm sorry I'm a giant horny hypocrite?’ ‘I'm sorry I told you to fuck off and then chased you across the state without thinking about how that may leave you with more issues to deal with?’ You’ve got my undivided attention.”

Matches feels his stomach sinking. He hadn’t realised how angry… He pulls the kid in for a hug, but he feels like his whole body is sinking and he ends up leaning his weight on the kid's shoulders. He presses his lips to the dark hair, breathes in sweat and sex and a scent he knows as well as his own. 

The kid steps back and Matches nearly falls, has to grab onto a shelf to steady himself.

“Nah, Matches. It's not going to be like that. Didn't you hear me? You're not my Pops. Save that chaste bullshit for someone else. That's not what I want and I don't think it's what you want either, no matter what you tell yourself.”

The cold in the kid's voice cuts right through him. He'd do anything to make him warm again. Why does he let this kid get under his skin? Is it those painfully blue eyes? The attitude? That smart mouth he can still feel around his cock when he closes his eyes? The mouth he never knew the truth of till a week ago?

But that's not Matches thinking. Matches just met this kid last week.

The kid smirks. He’s leaning back against a stack of crates, hip cocked and arms crossed... It makes his shorts ride up on one side, showing finger-shaped bruises. Bruises that could be from Matches but he doesn't know for sure. He isn’t sure of anything anymore. He doesn't like that.

But he’s not going to let some punk kid who thinks he knows everything shake him. He rolls his shoulders a little, widens his stance just enough that the kid won’t be able to ignore how much bigger than him Matches is. 

“You think you know what I want, kid? How about you tell me what it is I want right now?”

“You want to fuck me, of course. That's why you’re in Metropolis. And you hate Metropolis, don't you? But here you are anyway, because you want me just that bad.”

Matches grabs the lapels of the kid’s stupid jacket, pulls him in close. Feels the warmth of his skin, sweat slick under the leather, the heat of his breath against Matches’ lips. 

“How many times have have you beat off thinking about me this week?” the kid asks.

Matches growls in response, determined not to give the kid an inch. Even though the kid’s absolutely pinned him on that.

“And how many times did you beat off thinking about Robbie, huh?” the kid challenges, leaning back as far as he can with Matches still holding his jacket, and smirking up at him.. He rolls the name “Robbie” in his throat so it comes out low and rough, almost sounding like Matches. 

“What's that matter to you? You ain't Robbie, are ya?” Matches snarls.

“Well I know how many times he beat off thinking about you. All the damn time. Every time you went out together. Did you know that about him? Probably why he booked. Wrist got tired.” 

Matches can’t think about that, not now, so he just curls his lip, hopes his expression tells the kid to back off.

Maybe it works, maybe it doesn’t. The kid stares at his mouth, moves his left hand from where it was resting on Matches’ chest, bringing it to Matches lips. 

He runs a finger over Matches bottom lip, blue eyes intent and as serious as Matches has ever seen them. Matches opens his mouth for him, taking his finger inside. 

It's just a reflex, no conscious thought involved. It's sure as shit not Matches with his heart in his throat, pulse pounding so loud it drowns out the noise from upstairs. 

He stares at Matches, eyes wide, lips open like he's about to gasp but he doesn't make a sound. The kid lifts his second finger, pushes deeper along Matches’ tongue, twisting. 

Then it's a choice. Does he fight this, try to regain some kind of control, or does he give in and admit that he’d give this kid anything. Everything.

There was never any question which he’d choose, and the kid must see it in his eyes because a moment later Matches hears the sound of the kid’s zipper going down.

The kid takes his hand off his zipper to squeeze Matches’ arm, making his “shorts” slip down to the wide part of his ass, hanging there as the kid’s impressive cock strains out from his open fly. Matches remembers every inch of him with the attention to detail he usually only expends on casing a joint. He remembers the soft dark pubic hair, neatly trimmed, the exact tilt of the kid’s long pink cock, probably askew from dressing left for years, the sweet pink tip of it peeking through his foreskin as he stands there hard and waiting. 

The kid is feeling Matches’ arm muscles, then taps on his shoulder. Matches feels his knees nearly buckle at the thought of what’s coming next, but he’s not going to give in that easy.

Matches flexes his arm, making his shoulder muscles jump under the kid’s grip. Matches grins around his mouthful and sinks his teeth into the kid’s fingers, just hard enough to hurt. 

“Now who's playing hard to get?” the kid chuckles, taking his wet fingers from Matches’ mouth.

“Sure as hell ain't you. Saw you with your friend up there. What’s the matter? He not fucking you right? Cuz here you are with me, and it looks like you’re still hungry for cock.”

“I’ve got a big appetite—growing boy and all that… For the record though, my friend is an incredible lay. We fucked three times today… “ the kid starts counting on his fingers, “same as yesterday… day before. We’re damn good together. You want to watch? I could show you… He's—”

Matches doesn't want to hear it. He clashes their mouths together. Shoves his hand down the back of the kid’s un-zipped shorts, knocking the shorts down the rest of the way and making him yelp from his hand. Fucks his mouth for a couple of hot wet minutes, till the kid nips his tongue and pulls away.

“Ok, how about you show _me_ then,” the kid says, rubbing his own cock with the heel of his hand. Matches' mouth waters and it's an almost a Pavlovian response. 

He wants to drops to his knees to take him, but Matches pauses first to smirk and assert, “Oh yeah kid, I can show you” before sinking down and taking the kids hard cock in hand. 

The kid is seriously hung and Matches hasn't sucked cock in a long while. Matches starts out over-ambitious, tries to swallow him down straight away, and chokes a little. 

The stutter of his choking reflex makes the kid groan and he grabs Matches’ shoulder to steady himself. Matches moves his hand around the kid's balls, rolling them in his hand as he sucks. He’s drooling around his mouthful, spit dripping down and making everything slick. His other hand grabs one perfect ass cheek hard and encourages the kid to thrust a little. The kid is panting.

Matches tongues the kid’s foreskin down again, tastes salty pre-come on his tongue. He swirls his tongue around the kid's head and slit and tastes more. Matches hears himself moan and doesn't even recognize the sound. It sounds like an admission of something. 

When the kid pushes him back for a moment, they’re both flushed and panting.

“You really do suck cock like a pro, Matches. Where'd you learn? Cuz I know it wasn't at boarding school.” 

Matches laughs. He genuinely laughs. It's preposterous. The kid is momentarily startled by Matches’ barking laughter but his expression turns to a smile when Matches looks into his eyes with a strange significance.

“Some time you'll have to tell me” the kid replies. Matches shakes his head like it’ll clear his thoughts again if he does. He goes back to sucking the kid’s cock, deeper than before, like he has something to prove.

The kid grabs Matches by the hair and starts thrusting into his mouth faster. Matches feels claimed and used and he loves it. He wants to taste the kid’s come so badly he’d pay for it, like he did before. 

“That’s right, let me fuck your face, put your big mouth to some use,” the kid says, trying out a gravely voice. 

Matches grips the kid’s left hip hard and with his right, traces a spit wet finger up the kid’s perineum and towards his hole. But the kid stops him, moving his hand away.

He pulls out of Matches’ mouth and rubs his cock across his lips, catching on his 5 o'clock shadow and mustache but barely wincing at the burn.

“I know you’re angling to fuck my ass,” the kid smirks down at him.

“Well ya came on my cock like a pornstar last time so I figured it was time for an encore…”

“Oh and I’m sure I would again but...” the kid says turning around and kicking his barely shorts off his ankle “I've already been fucked twice tonight and three times is a bit much for even my ass,” the kid illustrates by wiggling his behind at Matches.

“Show me,” Matches orders, his voice so deep and dark that he hardly recognizes himself. 

But the kid knows what to do with that. He walks over to the cold cement wall, folds his arms against it, bends to lean on the wall, spreads his legs and presents his ass to Matches, humming to himself almost inaudibly. 

They are closer to the light fixture now and Matches can see fingerprint-shaped bruises all over the kid’s ass at irregular spans. It looks like more than one man’s hands had grabbed him hard. Matches sees a row of slightly raised angry pink contusions, several in small lines across the swell of each cheek. They look like someone's caned the kid. Matches can't help thinking the little slut probably loved it.

And then there’s a bite mark... 

Which thankfully didn't break skin.

But Matches gaze is inevitably drawn down to the kids legs again too. He looks at the old scars on them, the ones he remembers perfectly well: the deep knife scar, the animal claw marks. Those are still the biggest wounds on the kid, by far.

Matches huffs and spreads the kid’s ass cheeks with his hands, more gently than necessary. He hears the smallest hitch in the kid’s breath as he leans in and looks over the kid's hole. No serious abrasions or trauma but the skin around his opening is still pink and puffy, like it really was freshly fucked. 

“See, Matches, no permanent damage. Just not ready for a giant cock inside me again at the moment,” the kid says.

Now Matches really is glad he hadn't poked his finger into the kid un-announced. Not that he's one for ceremony but he couldn’t stand the thought of hurting him inside, and looking at him now it’s clear that he would have. Plus, what if Matches’ had found him wet with come? He doesn’t want to believe the kid would be reckless enough to let someone fuck him bare. Even with condoms though, the fact that the kid got fucked that many times in so few days is still a potential issue if his partners weren’t careful enough with prepping him, or if the kid himself was too impatient. 

Jesus Christ, kid doesn’t know how to look after himself... As if some barely of age, fresh on the street, know-it-all rentboy would?!

But Matches feels the need to claim him—some way, in any way. He’s know he’s not “his”. If he wanted him to be he’d have taken him back with him that first night. If he was really his he’d have dragged the kid back to Gotham, kicking and screaming, the instant he found him on his scumbag friend’s lap. 

But no, this isn’t that kind of thing at all. The kid’s forehead and arms are still resting on the basement wall and Matches is so close to the kid-- he could just lick him there. Taste him again, like he had that first time in the bathroom stall at Penguin’s club. But the kid’s made clear his hole is too raw, probably even for that.

“Used,” Matches utters at him. Something sour and ugly crawling from his mouth.

“Well used,” the kid replies. Matches reaches out to stroke the kid’s sack, compelled by the need to touch him without wanting to gratify either of them too much sexually. Not yet.

“Slut,” Matches adds.

“Yeah, I am,” the kid agrees with a sigh.

Matches spits on the kid’s hole, still cradling the kid’s balls in one hand as he holds his cheeks spread. Watches his spit run down across the kid’s opening, down to his balls as the kid shivers in his hands. 

And yeah, Matches is going to take him back tonight, make sure he doesn’t feel the need to waste time and risk his body with Fake Bats or the other freaks in this club. 

“But you still want to fuck, don’t you?” the kid asks earnestly, looking back over his shoulder as Matches strokes the kid’s balls. He feels them tighten in his hand as the kid’s erection grows harder again.

“Yeah. So, fuck me,” Matches says, words out of his mouth before he has time to censor himself. 

“What?” the kid gasps over his shoulder, trying to crane his neck to see Matches. But Matches doesn’t feel like being looked at right now. So he repeats himself, “Fuck. Me.” and leans in to lap at the kid’s balls, preferring to lose himself to the taste rather than looking into the kid’s eyes after admitting he wants it that bad.

“Oh Matches...” the kid replies, his voice dark with desire. 

And then “oh fuck oh fuck” as Matches laps faster. 

“Keep that up and I’ll come before we even start, big guy,” the kid gasps. 

Matches moves back and the kid drops down to kneel beside Matches, his eyes wide and pupils black. Matches pulls the kid towards him roughly, the kid’s hard, wet cock pressing against his own, still trapped in polyester pants. The kid mouths along Matches’ neck and then back to gnaw on Matches’ lower lip.

“You want me to fuck you big guy?” the kid smiles against Matches’ jaw. “Think you can take me?” The kid starts pumping his hand up and down on his long, hard cock. 

Matches’ blood rushes so hard he’s not sure if it’s coming or going. But the kid is still kneeling beside him, grinning with his hand holding the base of his own cock, like he’s offering it to him like a present. And Matches doesn’t turn down gifts. 

“Think you know how to show me a good time, sweet cheeks?” Matches grins right back, wolfishly. 

“Oh big guy, I’ve been an expert at that end too for years.” Matches doesn’t want to think about how young the kid might have been his first time—either topping _or_ bottoming—especially not when the kid straddles his hips. His movements are feline, confident, but the mischievous light in his eyes makes him look awed-- and so young. Like someone everyone with a pulse would want to touch, but only a real scumbag perv like Matches would actually dare to. 

The kid undoes Matches’ belt with one hand. Matches’ suit doesn’t quite fit properly so his pants get pushed down quickly. Matches went commando of course so it’s only a moment before the kid puts his hand on Matches’ cock. He shoves Matches’ coat underneath them keep his bare ass off the floor. 

In spite of their significant size differential the kid eases Matches flat down to the ground easily. The kid climbs on back top of him so they're sitting dick to dick. Probably not the best idea. Fuck knows where the kid’s dick’s been last. But then none of this is the best idea. Matches is a broken old man and he’s about to get fucked by a punk kid, who’d just sat on a Batman rip-off’s cock a couple of hours ago and, who doesn’t know half of what he thinks he does. 

Bad idea city. 

Until the kid’s cock rubs against his own just right and then everything flies out the window because this is suddenly the best idea since sliced bread.

Matches leans forward to tongue at the kid's nipple ring but the kid stops him, saying, “don't touch me there. It's fresh. Needs to heal for a few more days.” Matches arches an eyebrow at the fresh piercing. He blows air on it and then goes for the kid’s other nipple. Bites it. Which the kid responds to by pinching Matches’ nipples through his shirt. Hard.

Matches grins up at him, really nasty.

The kid starts to undo Matches’ shirt buttons, tracing his muscles with his hands as if he's admiring them.

“Last time you gave me shit over my scars. But look at you! You're way more marked up than me. What trouble have YOU been getting into?” 

“Listen kid,” Matches says, “I've got a lot of years on you. I've lived hard. And let's just say I gave even harder then I got.” The kid traces Matches’ scars with his tongue and then cards his fingers through the dark hair across Matches’ chest. Matches would purr like a cat if he could but he settles for sucking a bruise on the kid’s neck, deliberately choosing a spot just below his jaw, where he’ll need more than a bandana to cover it. 

He doesn’t notice the kid rummaging through his pockets for lube and rubbers till the kid coos, “I’m gonna open you up first, nice and slow,” pouring lube across his hand.

Matches nods and realizes he's blushing at the thought of being touched like that. Of being touched so intimately by this kid, so young, so sure of himself while Matches feels like he’s coming apart. The kid is kneeling over him, bracketing his legs. Matches feels the kid’s hand, stroking the skin where his thighs meet his groin, then slick across his balls. 

“Want you to suck me while you're down there. Want to fuck your pretty mouth,” Matches says.

The kid smiles wickedly, shimmies farther down Matches’ body and lowers his head to Matches’ cock. When he feels the wet tip of the kid’s finger swirling around his hole he startles. Then the kid’s lips are on him—just the head of his cock. He starts to relax back down, resting against the kid’s hand. The kid’s finger pauses at Matches’ entrance, just waiting there. Matches hears himself whimper. The kid’s lips are still wrapped tight around Matches’ cockhead. 

Every nerve in his body is firing now. He feels the cold, damp basement air on his chest, in his lungs. The kid's lips stretched around his cock like he's pulling the life out of him. The kid's body, nude except for a leather jacket and boots, rearing up like a cheetah that could eat him alive. The tingling of the wet finger against his entrance.

“You’re so hungry for me, aren't you Matches? I'm gonna put my fingers in your ass, fuck your sweet spot and when you beg to come I'm going to give you my cock.”

Matches fucking nods. Doesn’t even pretend to object.

That's how bad he has it. 

Kid takes his wet fingers, rubs them across Matches’ crack and then slides the tip of his middle finger into the heat of him. He remembers how to do this, how to take this, even though it’s been a while.

Matches forces himself to relax, feels himself open around the finger. While he’s listening to his breath the kid squirts more lube onto his fingers and Matches’ hole. Then he squeezes a second finger in, using it to push the lube inside Matches’ unresisting body. The kid scissors his fingers as he thrusts, until it feels like he’s forcing him open. 

“One more big guy and then you can take my cock,” the kid coos at him. “Open up,” and Matches does-- he feels himself give way. He relaxes around the kid's three fingers, not as deep as before but he feels full. It's a forgotten sensation.

The kid inches around and presses up against Matches sweet spot. Presses and rubs there until Matches is bucking against the kid's hand. His cock feels like it's throbbing as he watches a pearl of precome form and trickle down his cockhead. Kid waits till Matches is gasping to chase the translucent drop with just the tip of his tongue as he drums on inside him, three fingers, rubbing, pushing. 

But the kid barely touches Matches’ cock. He smiles as Matches gets his hand around himself while continuing to fuck the kid's fingers. 

“Matches, I think you're ready for my cock now,” the kid smiles as he takes Matches’ hand off his cock and takes it in his own.

“Fuck, kid! Yeah I'm ready for it!” Matches is slicking up the kid's long cock now with lube from the travel bottle the kid had used. He strokes back the kid’s foreskin the rest of the way exposing glans already wet with precome. He sits up and moves to pull the kid down and into him. 

“Safety first big guy,” the kid smiles slyly. He pushes Matches over and grabs a condom. 

The kid opens the condom and tells Matches “spit on it” nodding at his cock. He does and watches it trail down the kid’s shaft. The kid rolls on the condom and squirts on more lube on top too for good measure. He crawls on top of Matches again as Matches spreads his legs wide. The kid's pumping his own cock with one hand and walks two fingers back into Matches open hole, making sure he’s ready.

“Christ kid, I need your cock,” grunts Matches, his throat tight and constricted. 

The kid is almost shaking when he crawls between Matches legs, holds his cheeks open as he pushes in.

“Oh my god you're tight. You sure I’m not hurting you?” the kid gasps. 

“That’s it kid, all the way,” Matches mutters, not really answering the question because he doesn’t need babying—but it is tight. It is a stretch and it was always going to be. 

Matches grunts and grinds down against him till he's taken the kid's cock all the way to the root. They pause like that for a moment. Just breathing on each other. Face to face. Not kissing.

The kid swivels his hips and Matches moans as the cock moves inside him. The kid starts gripping Matches cock, not jerking him, just holding him as he feels the kid’s hips roll against him. It feels amazing. He could do this for hours.

The kid is staring into Matches eyes, unblinking. Matches thinks he can see himself, his own reflection in the kid’s black pupils, chin up, throat tight. The kid starts grasping at Matches’ hips, prying Matches’ thighs wider, digging into muscle and resistance built through years of training. The kid is spreading him, pushing him. The kid’s eyes are wide and wild. 

Matches wants it. Wants to take everything, every inch, every slip of their bodies meeting. He clenches around the kid’s cock and feels the kid’s fingers dig deeper into his muscles. When he looks back into the kid’s eyes they’re shining. Almost wet. Right now everything is real and terrifying. 

But Matches is never afraid. Matches wouldn’t know the meaning of the word. Matches has a rock hard 8 inch dick in his ass and he needs it to move, faster, harder and right now.

“Come on kid. Fuck me. I can take it. Ain't gonna break like one of your tricks,” Matches thrusts against him, lifting him off the ground. 

The kid croons from the motion. And then he starts thrusting. Hard. He pushes Matches leg up higher and gets more leverage as he pounds away. The kid’s gone silent now while the basement seems full of the sound of their bodies slapping together. He feels the kid’s balls smack against his ass. The drip of sweat off the kid’s smooth, unblemished forehead down to Matches chest, hairy, covered with scars and bruises and skin pinched closed with butterfly sutures. 

Matches wants to touch himself but he’d come too soon. It would all be over. So he reaches for the kid’s cock instead. The juncture of their bodies is slick and hot. Matches feels himself, his hole stretched wide around the kid’s dick. The way it pulls him when he thrusts out. The kid notices.

“Yeah, I’m in you. All the way in you,” the kid pants. “You like that? You want me? Show me how bad you want me?” The kid is practically lifting him up off the ground on his cock. 

Matches moans. He’s so close. He’s leaking precome like he hasn’t since he was a teen. A wet trail of it is slicking down his cock and it feels amazing. He figures a kid wailing on his prostate like it’s the World Series of Fucking might do that.

“You’re gonna make me come all over you, kid. You want that? You want my come on that new jacket your friend bought you? Shoot all over you like I’m signing my name?” Matches growls. 

The kid slows down. “Yeah. I want to see you lose it for me…”

“Don’t stop!” Matches pants but the kid settles into a maddening slow grind. 

“Don’t stop what, Matches?” he teases, stroking Matches balls with his fingers.

“Don’t stop fucking me!”

“Cuz you love this right? You need my cock in you just as bad as you need to come inside me? Just as bad as you wanted to come in my used asshole?” The kid starts sucking on his own finger.

Matches nods and then whimpers “Jesus, fuck!” as the kid starts to work the wet finger in beside his cock. It feels enormous. He could stop him but he doesn’t want to. He feels himself stretching and he feels it right on his prostate now as the kid rocks forward and back, real slow.

“So tell me,” the kid whispers, “tell me you love it.” He’s biting his lower lip, face flushed pink, his eyes so terribly blue and shining that he looks metahuman.

It’s all too much. Matches closes his eyes, pulls the kid’s finger out of him and wraps both of their hands around his cock.

He thrusts up against the kid, lifting them both up with the force of it and then thrusts as fast as he can. He pulls the kid’s head down against him though it only reaches his chin. He feels the friction of their bodies together and he kisses his forehead because he can't reach his mouth. 

The kid is jacking him now. Perfectly. Exactly the way he’d do it himself. Matches knows that feeling.

He slows his hand down and traces around the slit of Matches dripping cock. The kid lifts his finger to Matches’ lips wetting them with precome and Matches tastes himself. His own salt stinging his tongue. 

The kid dips his finger against Matches’ slit again and a whole trail of precome stretches between Matches glans and the kid's fingertip. 

“Look at that. So wet for me. You **do** love it,” the kid says, almost awed as Matches slurps the sticky finger into his mouth.

Matches feels the kid pull out half way, feels the kid’s fist balled around the base of his cock so he can focus the pressure on Matches’ prostate while still keeping the tightness around his entire cock. The feeling of the kid’s hand, calloused and strong but still somehow delicate, familiar, but strange down against his ass, combined with the direct pressure against his prostate are driving Matches wild.

“Come on my cock big guy. Mark me with your come so everyone knows who's slut I am,” and the kid moves his hand, pushes all the way in so deep and bottomless.

Matches feels his orgasm tearing through his body. It surges from deep inside where the kid is fucking him. The feeling rushes up and out across his balls, through his cock as he shoots across the kid's chest and yes, a little on his leather jacket.

“Oh god,” moans the kid. “Oh god that was hot. You came on my cock!” The kid reaches out to Matches’ face, stroking his jaw with a tenderness that seems out of place in their surroundings. 

Matches feels loose-limbed and weak from the force of his own orgasm. The kid’s cock suddenly feels enormous inside his sore ass but he wants the kid to come for him as hard as he just did. Matches clenches around the kid hard. The kid cries “oh, god” again and leans down to kiss him but Matches needs to watch, needs to see the kid’s face when he comes inside him. So he pulls back, bracing the kid’s chest away and tells the kid, “look” as he directs his eyes down to watch their cocks.

Matches’ is slowly softening with strings of come still glistening since he hasn’t wiped them away. The force of the kid’s thrusts are making Matches’ cock shake. The kid lifts Matches cock and balls so he can see his own cock penetrating Matches again. And again. Taking pleasure. Joining them. Soft and hard. Matches bares down around him again with every remaining modicum of strength. His abs rippling visibly from it despite the hair and scars across them. The kid puts his hand against Matches’ stomach, searching, pushing, and finds a scar—ugly, purple and raised. The kid rubs his thumb over it and whispers to it, inaudibly. Somehow that does it. 

One more thrust and the kid comes screaming into him. Matches feels the force of his ejaculation through the condom. He knows the kid must have come at least twice that day but his desire is limitless, wanton and it fills him. The kid comes and comes and his eyes are wet, his face is pink, his lips are bitten. 

Their eyes make contact but don’t hold. The kid’s mouth closes as he remembers himself. He pulls out to tie off the spent condom.

Matches distinctly feels the mess of lube trickling out of him. There's so much it reminds him of barebacking with Harve in school, _too dumb for our own good_ he remembers. Dumb and reckless as he’s feeling now. 

The same aching drove him here. The urgency of youth. The desperation for belonging.

Matches touches his hole, checking to confirm it really is just lube in his ass. It is, but he's startled by how open he is running his finger across the tender, slick skin. He’s definitely not taking another cock tonight. Not that he was planning on it in the first place.

The kid is standing up and looking down at him, satisfied. He quirks an eyebrow at Matches.

“How you feeling? Don’t worry, you're not going to stick that way... I'd know”

Matches first thought is that the kid means he doesn't think Matches is gonna be fucking any more barely-legal teenagers in the basement of a leather bar—and he fucking hopes that's true, but he realizes when the kid keeps staring as Matches' ass that he's probably just referring to the loose, lube-slicked state of his ass and _yeah, I've read Dan Savage too, ya smug fucker_ Matches thinks but replies instead, “You think I worry about what I look like? I haven't given a fuck about getting off on cock since you were in kindergarten. Pass me that.” Matches gestures to a hankie that came out of his jacket.

“Touchy, Matches. Just making sure you're not going to freak. It's been known to happen. But then I guess you're freaky too, huh.”

“That's why you need it from me, isn't it kid? Someone who wants to get as low as you are,” says Matches wiping himself as the kid tucks his cock back into his obscene shorts. Sort of. The slightest glisten of lube still visible at his cut-off’s edge. Skin of his thighs pink from abrasion. 

“Yeah,” says the kid. “That must be it. Definitely not because you're a great conversationalist and humanitarian.”

“Want to bust out of this place with me? I can drive you back to Gotham. Got a pretty sweet ride if I do say so myself,” Matches says zipping up his own pants.

“Thanks for the offer but I got some loose ends to wrap up here first. Going to catch up with an old friend… Or two,” the kid says quite pointedly.

Matches tries to keep a poker face but he must not be doing a great job of it because he sees a look of sympathy splash across the kid’s face.

“Don’t worry about me, Matches. I'll look you up when I'm back in town,” the kid says walking up to him. He kisses him hard, bites Matches’ bottom lip and gazes up at him through dark lashes. Those eyes that can't be denied—that can only be said _yes_ to. Eyes that are still a little damp with emotion.

Matches shakes his head. Not sure where that poetry crept in from. Must be the kid’s fault. Always the kid’s fault. 

Matches pops a fresh match between his teeth. The match sticks to his bottom lip a bit this time. It stings. 

As he slips into his jacket the kid says “you watch out for yourself ok? Don't go falling for teenage boys. We’ll fuck you up, or so I'm told.” Matches doesn’t look back as he walks away. 

___________________ _ **Later**_ ____________________________________

Batman is on another tear through Gotham. The jail’s almost full to the max with goons. There'd been a bad storm in Metropolis. People figured all the toughs from Metropolis had headed out to Gotham when the rain hit. 

Turned out it had been the Weather Wizard. Who the hell thinks up these clowns? 

Speaking of clowns, the worst one had broken out of Arkham. It was not a good time. Batman hadn’t slept and hadn’t been sleeping for days. He was sloppy. He was sore. He was tired and he was utterly alone for once with everyone else out of town dealing with the latest crisis. Even Jason was away with the Titans and Bruce hadn’t wanted to interfere as Jason was just getting established with the other teens. 

Just when Batman is out for the count in the wreckage of a broken-down circus he spots a flash of bright blue soaring through the air. Right before he loses consciousness. 

_______________ _ **Afterwards**_ _____________________________

Bruce wakes up in the cave. Familiar smells all around him and a bright face gazing down on him and smiling. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty! How are you feeling now? You got knocked out cold but not for long, no lasting damage. Well, at least no worse than before,” the face said slowly pulling into focus. 

_I know those eyes, that voice, that smile._

There's a hand on his neck, feeling his pulse… _I know that hand. It's HIS._

Bruce holds Dick's hand. He can see clearly again by the time Dick says, “we got him. He's back in Arkham.” 

“I trusted that you had,” Bruce smiles up at Dick holding on to his hand. “You can take care of yourself just fine after all.”

“More or less. He got me right here though,” Dick replies, twisting his head to show off a contusion under his jaw. 

The motion of raising his chin reveals a familiar bite mark on Dick’s neck, almost healed, now only visible because Bruce knows where to look.

They hold each other's hands.  
_______________ _ **The End**_ _____________________________

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my incredible Beta-reader [Sapphy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphy/works) for the deep edits.  
> If anyone thinks my tags and warnings are off let me know. Dick is 18.  
> "Robbie" was the underworld alias Dick used to use when Bruce went out as Matches.


End file.
